


Remember

by Nalyra



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:32:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: Healing together after the fall, and keeping your promises.





	Remember

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what triggered this but while I cried writing it, I also love it for some reason.

The red light outside their dirty window flickers again. The room dims into cold blue for a moment, giving Hannibal a haunted expression before it lights up again, the warmer mixed flickering light bringing back life to his features. Will grinds his teeth for a moment, bearing down on the memory it triggers with an effort. The almost healed scar in his cheek twinges, a sharp reminder of his memories being true, his neck prickling with unseen antlers.

He swallows, wringing out the cloth in the shabby Motel’s bathroom, ignoring the empty bottles and vials next to the sink. He hangs it over the bathtub to dry, taking one of the dried ones and returns to the room, bathed in red and blue, watching the slow rise and fall of Hannibal’s chest for a long moment from the doorway, unsurprised when Hannibal breaks the silence after a moment, voice raspy, forever entwined with the smell of burning candles now, courtesy of their shared mind palace.

„Our supplies are low again, are they not, mylimasis.“

Will looks down at the cloth in his hands, frowning, used to the endearment by now, gifted to him in a fever dream for the first time and then kept, never looked up, the meaning painfully clear. He clears his throat, raising his eyebrows, his tongue clicking.

„They are.“

Hannibal closes his eyes for a moment, gaunt features in stark relief. Will steps over and pulls back the blanket, the action familiar and easy now, as is the angry red wound, inflamed flesh surrounding it on Hannibal’s belly, the exit wound of the Dragon’s bullet still jagged-edged and puffed. He dabs at the fluids gathering, trying to ignore how prominent Hannibal’s ribs look in the low light. He sighs through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it for a moment, his tone exhausted.

„The inflammation has gotten worse. I need to go and get more antibiotics.“

Silence. Leaving the room and trying to procure further medication without money will entail a significant amount of risk. And if Will is caught… He shies away from the thought, pulling the blanket back up, eyes fixed on Hannibal’s collarbones unwilling to raise his eyes further. He reaches out and strokes the left one with his finger, the bone under the thin layer of skin deceptively frail looking. Hannibal’s hand comes up, clasping Will’s there, cold fingers threading through his and Will closes his eyes, concentrating, squeezing their hands together for a moment before he removes his hand again, the moment they loose contact felt deep in his gut. ‚Can’t live, with him, can’t live without him‘. He suppresses a snort as he turns away, reaching for the sweater to put over his dirty and wrinkled t-shirt. 

„Will.“

He turns back towards Hannibal and pulls the sweater over his head, his hair sticking up in several places before he flattens the curls again, the small smile that flits over Hannibal’s face echoed with a twitch of his own lips. Hannibal taps the mattress next to his hips lightly, his reddish eyes burning with energy for just a moment and Will obliges, settling down onto the edge of the bed carefully. A slow inhale and then Hannibal’s hand comes up and settles on his jaw, cradling softly, thumb stroking over the scar there, the stubble coarse. Will breathes in deep, the faint smell of Hannibal’s skin vaguely relaxing, underlaid by decay and sweat and exhaustion. He turns his face into the palm for just a second, lips brushing and sending tingles through his stomach and then he pushes himself up, catching Hannibal’s hand when he dislodges it with the movement, slowly lowering it down to the blanket again. He raises his eyes to Hannibal’s for just a moment, watching him placidly, eyes heavily lidded. The words come by themselves, seemingly bypassing his brain, raw, laced with primal panic.

„I’m afraid…“

Will swallows, harshly, blinking rapidly. He forces himself to continue, voice almost inaudible.

„I meant to die with you or not at all, not see you whither away in a shabby bed.“

Hannibal’s eyes crinkle, voice soft, laced with humor, taking away the guilt.

„I believe I am relieved that this was not part of the plan, mylimasis.“

Will cackles under his breath, shaking his head, though more at the situation in general than in denial. He clicks his tongue, raising his eyebrows, tone low.

„Not much of a plan, really… just fate and circumstance and… blood.“

Hannibal shifts a bit, a grimace of pain flitting over his face just for an instant and Will clenches his left fist, furiously wishing for reality to shift. Hannibal’s voice pulls him back, voice pressed with exhaustion again already, the scent of candles drifting over.

„I will be here with you, always, Will, you worry too much… Besides.“

He reaches up and beckons and Will comes again, of course, always, bending down, Hannibal’s hand gently gripping his neck this time, fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. Time slows to a crawl and Will sighs, shifting, eyes closing by themselves. It’s inevitable and inescapable, fated and predestined, the air between them crackling, and there’s this strange thought, wondering at why it is only happening here, now. Hannibal pulls a bit more and Will falls down to his knees, his hands coming up to grip the blanket tightly, the moment their lips finally touch burning itself into his memory, rearranging realities around them. 

The kiss is dry and their lips chapped and yet it is everything, the room fading around them, light flooded pews fading in and out of Will’s vision. Hannibal shifts his head and lightly pulls at Will’s upper lip, sharp teeth drawing blood, the single drop salty on Will’s tongue, a benediction. Hannibal’s voice is a whisper, breathed against his lips.

„This. This makes it all worth it, does it not?“

Will closes his eyes against the tears that threaten to fall, nodding jerkily, reaching out to clasp Hannibal’s cold hand again. Hannibal’s voice drifts over to him, carried on an exhale, something steely in it now, demanding.

„Promise me, Will.“

A pause, Hannibal’s voice an echo.

„Promise me, you’ll live to remember this time.“

The salt on his lips looses the coppery tang and Will smiles, painfully, pulling open the bedside drawer to reach for the gun there. He cocks it, exhaling in a rush, the megaphone outside drowning out all other noise. There’s a hiss of a tear gas grenade and Will huffs a laugh, raising the gun to the door, his left hand grabbing for Hannibal’s hand, blindly. But when the door bursts open he does not fire the gun, the taser locking his body in its static embrace, dots of lasers dancing over his features.

He wonders at himself for a split second, while his limbs jerk.  
But then he promised, after all, did he not.


End file.
